


The Third Type of Person

by roseknight



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Papyrus is an angel, the sex robot fic where no one has sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 07:17:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11801139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseknight/pseuds/roseknight
Summary: "Would you believe," Sans said, hands shoved deep in his hoodie's pockets, "that you aren't the first sex robot my brother's brought home on accident."





	The Third Type of Person

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissNewGoomy (5dshadesofgay)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/5dshadesofgay/gifts).



The sidewalk was far from empty, but Mettaton might as well have been invisible. The humans who walked by were always suddenly in a hurry, giving him a wide berth, because they knew what he was and why he was there. He went against etiquette. Robots like Mettaton were supposed to stalk the alleyways, cling to corners unseen, until a human brought them into the light for awhile.

But Mettaton refused to waste away in the darkness.

"Hey, sweetheart," he said in a smooth voice, his smile a tantalizing curve, his hips angled to show off his legs. The human he'd stopped looked startled, her eyes darting around nervously.

"I'm not interested," she said. "I have a boyfriend, okay?"

"Oh? Why don't you introduce me to him, too?" Mettaton purred.

She looked more panicked at that and rushed off without another word. Mettaton bit back a sigh. This was business. He had to keep a smile on his face and he would, regardless of how negatively anyone reacted.

"Nyeh heh heh! What a look!"

Mettaton heard a strange laugh from behind him and rolled his eyes. Mocking his appearance was so typical it was boring. Like he didn't know he was gorgeous and that any human with good taste thought so, too. But a lot of others seemed to have a problem with his makeup and the high heels that made his perfect legs even more perfect.

When he turned around to seduce whoever had spoken into submission, he saw the man hadn't been talking about him at all. His laugh had sounded mocking, but his expression was nothing but proud, and it was his own appearance he was admiring, reflected in a shop window.

Mettaton ran his eyes over him, calculating. He was tall, desirably so. But that was about where his physical merits ended. His fashion sense was nonexistent and his oversized red scarf looked years old. His hairstyle could be described most generously as unique. When he turned and caught Mettaton staring at him, Mettaton saw the best part. His shirt said, of all things, "COOL DUDE" in capital, handwritten letters. Mettaton stifled a laugh.

The stranger's eyes lit up. "Oh, hello there! I see you were also admiring the newest addition to my wardrobe! You have very good taste."

"Tell me something I don't know, darling." Sensing an easy target, he walked forward boldly and rested his fingertips lightly on the stranger's shoulder. His bright pink nails clashed with the equally bright red of the man's shirt. "After all, you look like someone with interesting stories to tell."

"Yes, I do!" the man agreed loudly. "I, the Great Papyrus, can tell you lots of things you don't know! For example-"

Mettaton cut him- Papyrus, apparently- off gently. "I'd love to hear them, but why don't we do so somewhere more... private."

Papyrus looked puzzled, but he recovered quickly. "Of course! After all, this could take awhile, especially if you want to hear my coolest stories."

It was that easy. So easy it was a little anticlimactic. Mettaton tuned out the man's blathering as they strolled a few blocks away, into a suburban area clustered with houses. They turned heads as they went. Normally his clients hired taxis, and it was a bit of a nuisance to put wear on his boots for such a normal occasion, but as much as he'd like to be, he literally couldn't afford to be picky these days.

"Here we are," Papyrus said, as cheerfully as he said everything else, stopping in front of a nondescript two-story house. He didn't seem ashamed at all to have just brought a prostitute home. "I know you want to hear my cool stories, but I should warn you that my brother might be home. He is very uncool compared to me, but don't let it bother you."

"I won't," Mettaton replied. So he had _some_ awareness, then, if he was warning him about a family member they might run into. Sneaking quietly in and out windows and doing his job while flattening a hand over his mouth were all the norm.

He was prepared to slink silently wherever the stranger led him, but as it turned out, sneaking was pointless. There was someone sitting at the kitchen table, fully visible from the entryway. Mettaton froze, but when Papyrus kept going, he followed him in. If this turned into a threesome, that just meant he could charge more.

"I'll be right back!" Papyrus said before rushing upstairs.

Mettaton casually sat down on a sofa in the living room right off the hallway, legs crossed. He looked around, seeings bits of the life of the client he was about to fuck. Family photos, mostly of him and someone who looked a few years older, presumably the figure he'd seen at the kitchen table. Pictures were standard and good for basic information, but it was the other things in the room that really piqued his curiosity. For example, there was a stack of dirty mugs on the coffee table in front of the sofa. Each had some cheesy quote on it, and a series of sticky notes with alternating handwriting trailed up them.

_SANS!! IT'S YOUR TURN TO DO THE DISHES! IN FACT, IT'S BEEN YOUR TURN FOR THE LAST FIVE MONTHS!_

_huh, seems like they're getting done anyway_

_THAT'S BECAUSE I'M BEING A GOOD BROTHER! YOU SHOULD TRY IT! HERE, WASH THIS MUG!_

_ok_

_YOU REUSED IT AND PUT IT ON THE TABLE AGAIN!_

_isn't that what mugs are for_

_YOU COULD AT LEAST USE A COASTER!_

_you're telling me my mug needs a costar?_

_SANS! THIS IS NOT A JOKING MATTER!_

Mettaton's head snapped up when he felt someone else in the room. It was the brother, Sans. And he was sitting on the arm of the sofa like he'd been there all along.

"Would you believe," Sans said, hands shoved deep in his hoodie's pockets, "that you aren't the first sex robot my brother's brought home on accident."

He didn't say it like a question, and Mettaton could distinctly sense the displeasure radiating off him, despite his casual demeanor.

Mettaton gave him a charming and cold smile. "Don't be so crude, darling. I prefer to be thought of as a professional entertainer."

Sans shrugged. "Doesn't really matter to me what you call yourself as long as you get out of here before my brother comes back downstairs."

Mettaton stayed where he was, leaning back with an alluring tilt of his neck. "I think that's between me and him. And you, if you stop playing coy."

Sans hopped off the couch to stand square in front of Mettaton. He was short, probably to the extent that would be comical if he was standing next to his brother, and he didn't have any impressive physique. But something about him made Mettaton wary.

His job didn't come without risks. Breaking a robot like him didn't even count as murder. But the interesting part of that loophole was that robots couldn't be charged with murder either. Mettaton wasn't afraid to defend himself.

Then Sans pulled his hand out of his pocket, wielding no weapon, just a worn wallet. He pulled a bill with a satisfying number of zeroes out of it and pressed it to Mettaton's chest. "That should be enough to cover your fee. Take it and leave."

Mettaton blinked down at the money crumpled in Sans's fist, then pushed it away. "I prefer to earn my money."

Sans seemed to have something to say about that, but the sound of feet pounding down the stairs cut their conversation off. The money and wallet disappeared back into Sans's pocket and he took a seat right next to Mettaton, who felt he'd acquired a babysitter.

"Here, this is for you!" Papyrus said, not paying any attention to his brother's appearance.

This time, it was a shirt thrust at Mettaton. He blinked in surprise yet again, taking the cotton bundle and shaking it out. It was identical to the one Papyrus was wearing, except it was blue. "This is..."

"Incredible, right?" Papyrus beamed. "But of course it is! It was handmade by yours truly! Now we match."

"How... nice." Mettaton folded the shirt up and placed it in his lap before leaning forward. "Though to be frank, putting on more clothes was not quite what I had in-"

A weight against his foot made him glance down. Sans's foot was flattened on top of his, pressing with enough force that it would definitely hurt if Mettaton had any nerves there. Worse than that, though, he was tearing into the leather. Mettaton stood up hastily to step away and save his shoe.

"Actually, he was just about to leave," Sans said, not looking guilty at all. "He'll have to hear your cool stories another time, bro."

Papyrus looked disappointed. "I see."

Mettaton glared at Sans out of Papyrus's line of sight. Sans yawned.

He relented. It didn't look like anything would come out of this waste of a walk except a scuffed shoe, and he'd already given up his opportunity to get paid for nothing. All he could do was take a last bit of petty revenge against Sans. "Be seeing you around, sweetheart," he said, winking at Papyrus before seeing himself out.

When he was on the doorstep, he looked down at the shirt in his hands, rolled his eyes, and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. Maybe he could repurpose it into something ironically trendy. If not, he'd give it a nice home in a dumpster.

-

Mettaton shuffled into his apartment long after midnight. It was too late for him to walk with his usual dramatic flair. He was too tired. Too used up.

And he _still_ didn't have enough for that month's rent. There was nothing keeping landlords from hiking up the rent price for robots. It was considered generous of them to allow non-human tenants at all. As Mettaton had learned, even blowing them didn't lower the price that much.

He sighed and sat down on the mattress that rested right against the floor. If he laid his head back, he'd be resting against his one decoration on the walls, an old Broadway poster he'd found thrown out behind a previous apartment years ago. Whatever play it was advertising was long off the stage and Mettaton didn't know what it was really about, nor did he need to know. All that mattered was the picture on it, a figure that looked like a robot long before robots had become a commonplace technological reality and then repurposed to the sex industry. Here, the robot was the star.

Was it really that far-fetched?

Mettaton could sing. He could dance. He looked damn good. He could even play the piano.

But all he was supposed to use his fingers for was bringing some desperate stranger to cheap, impersonal climax.

He kicked his boots off and fell back onto the mattress. He reached for a makeup wipe from the container he kept next to his bed, wiped the pink and black from his face, and tossed the glittery result into a wastebasket. Then he plugged his charger into the outlet in his left palm, connected it to the wall, and went into sleep mode.

-

Much sooner than he might've anticipated, he saw Papyrus again. Motivated by equal parts spite and curiosity, he went up to him after making sure Sans was nowhere around to ruin his fun.

"Hey, babe. Where have you been?"

Papyrus immediately gave him a grin. "I'm glad I ran into you again! I felt so bad once I realized I never asked your name."

"Mettaton," he replied. It was a name he'd chosen for himself, since the only names robots were given read like barcodes. That was probably why clients never bothered to ask.

Papyrus had a knack for breaking the norm.

"Mettaton... That has a fantastic ring to it! Well then, shall we pick up where we left off the other day?"

"That's exactly what I was hoping for," Mettaton said, eyes sliding half-closed and mouth forming a smirk.

"Great!"

He took Mettaton's hand and pulled him in a different direction than last time. Mettaton was too surprised to react at first. It was one thing to be bold enough to walk alongside a sex robot in broad daylight, but to hold their hand?

"You're rather forward, aren't you?" Mettaton asked, rubbing his thumb over the back of Papyrus's hand lightly.

Papyrus gave him a perplexed smile. "Don't be silly. We can't get there if we walk backwards."

Mettaton raised an eyebrow. It _sounded_ like a joke, but his expression was nothing but sincere. He rather hoped he wasn't hitting on a misleadingly tall sixteen-year-old.

Papyrus ended up leading him to a park. It was a cool afternoon, early enough that most kids were still in school, so the park was largely deserted. Mettaton could work with this. Semi-public sex was just another kink he could charge extra for.

"So, darling," Mettaton began, pulling his hand out of Papyrus's grasp so he could run it down his arm. "What did you have in mind for our date?"

Papyrus puffed out his chest. "Something amazing, of course." He fished around in the bag he'd been carrying and pulled out two wrapped bundles. "Okay, to be honest, I was bringing Sans lunch at work. He likes food almost as much as sleep but he's still too lazy to make his own! I think he'd live off ketchup packets if he could. But I won't let him do that. No brother of mine will be consuming such a poor diet!"

Mettaton, yet again, was forced to pause and reconsider what he was doing. "You... are going to give me food... that you were taking to your brother. ...Should you really be doing that?"

"It's no problem. I always make extra," Papyrus said.

Mettaton unwrapped one of the bundles and peered inside. It was a sandwich, probably. The fillings were spilling out haphazardly and it smelled... off. He could see three different kinds of sauces on it. It was fortunate he had an excuse not to eat this abomination.

"Papyrus, darling. This is thoughtful, but I don't eat human food." He rewrapped it and handed it back to Papyrus. He stretched his legs out in front of him and added nonchalantly, "You _are_ aware of what I am, right? A robot. Built for sex. Not for picnic dates in the park. Because you seem to have some strange misconceptions about me."

Mettaton had purposefully made it impossible for Papyrus not to address the obvious issue at hand- or so he thought. Somehow, Papyrus still managed to go off track, throwing his hands up in frustration as he said, "How thoughtless of me not to have prepared robot food!" He tilted his head. "Though if I'm being honest, I'm not quite sure what that entails... Batteries?" He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe Sans would know."

Mettaton gave a deep, impatient sigh. "Are you listening to me? I'm only here because I'm expecting you to pay me for sex. If you aren't going to do that, then I have other places to be."

In fact, he was five steps away before Papyrus had time to respond. "I know you're a robot, Mettaton. But that doesn't mean you can't enjoy a picnic! I mean, I guess food is out of the question, but there are other things here! Sunlight and trees and butterflies. And of course there's me! What more could you ask for?"

Mettaton looked at him over his shoulder, and Papyrus's proud grin pierced him through.

_Don't._

_Don't try to do me any favors._

Papyruse had known all along, and he'd been stringing Mettaton along, keeping him from his actual job with some play at friendship.

_Don't give me that._

_I don't want your pity._

"I'm not interested in any of those things, least of all in _you_ ," Mettaton snapped, and left this time without turning back.

-

Mettaton had a friend, once. Theoretically.

Her name was Alphys. She was short and nerdy and couldn't get through five words without stuttering, but she was also talented and nice. Mettaton had _thought_ she was nice.

She was so far from his usual client that he hadn't spared her a glance the day they met. And she hadn't looked at him either, engrossed in her phone as she walked down the street, and that was how they'd ended up bumping into each other.

One of her earbuds had fallen out, letting Mettaton hear some upbeat pop song, and she dropped her phone. Fortunately her case was decorated with enough keychains and charms that they helped cushion the blow.

"Oh dear, do you need some help?" Mettaton leaned over, sticking his ass out further than strictly necessary, and tried to pick up her phone. But she scrambled for it and held it protectively to her chest before he could touch it.

"N-no, no thanks, sorry I-" Her eyes widened as she finally looked up at him and saw what he was. "Oh."

It was a lackluster response, and more than a bit off-putting, but she'd quickly added, "Do you- do you have a moment? M-maybe?"

So he'd gone with her, noticing how she kept her red face down to avoid any stares the pair of them got. If she was ashamed of paying for a sex robot, she could've done so at some other time than the middle of the day, Mettaton thought. But as it turned out, she didn't have sex in mind at all.

She invited him to her house, gave him tea, and paid him for services he hadn't even gotten the chance to provide.

"It's fine, r-really!" she assured him. "I don't really- I mean, it isn't what- I just, well I just wanted to t-talk to you!"

"Talk to me," Mettaton repeated, intrigued but skeptical. "You paid a sex robot... to have a conversation."

She flinched, then nodded. "I-is that okay?"

Mettaton looked down at the money, then back up at her with a charming smile. "I've had stranger requests."

It had gone on like that for some time. She became his most frequent customer, though they never once even touched. Mettaton found himself warming up to her. She was somewhat adorable when she started rambling about her favorite shows, though Mettaton had no interest in their plots themselves.

And she was thoughtful. She always asked how he was doing. He never asked for her concern, and he didn't think it was something he wanted, but sometimes, he felt lighter when she showed it. He supposed this was what it meant to have a friend and not just a client.

Looking back, he wondered how he could've been so naive.

He learned the truth the day Alphys got distracted by a phone call. She had looked flustered when she looked down at the screen. Flustered and a little happy. "S-sorry, I have to take this!"

After she rushed off into a different room, closing the door behind her, Mettaton looked around with newfound curiosity. The call reminded him of how little he actually knew of Alphys's life. He'd learned more about the plots of various anime than about things that had happened to Alphys.

So without much guilt, he began poking around the room. They always sat in the same place, a combination living and dining room, and every time Mettaton went, it seemed messier than the last. He assumed that meant she was getting comfortable with him and less worried about making her house pristine for the sake of appearances.

He brushed aside a half-eaten bag of chips and several old receipts to find a pile of manga. Nothing surprising there. Everything else on the table was eitehr an empty soda can or an old pizza box. _She should really hire a maid_ , he mused, moving on to a small desk against the wall.

It was lined with cat-girl figurines, and when he opened the drawer, he expected more of the same. He wasn't disappointed. There were some more risque figurines hidden here, ones she probably put up before visitors came. "Naughty, naughty Alphys~" he sang under his breath as he reclosed the drawer.

All that was left was a box under the chair Alphys always sat in. He slid it out and opened the lid.

He supposed that if he were human, he might've stopped breathing in that moment.

Inside the box were detailed diagrams and thick stacks of scientific reports. Every image was labeled and analyzed down to the smallest detail.

The papers were on robotics.

He recognized his own body style in some of them. The same type of battery, the same cooling mechanism, and most importantly, the same sacred chip that held his artificial consciousness. This was the data, the research, the _genius_ that had pushed robots from unremarkable AIs to thinking, feeling machines, ones that could interact with humans as though they were equally human.

The research papers all bore the same name. Dr. Alphys.

He didn't even notice her come back in until she was kneeling on the floor in front of him, frantically trying to pull the papers from him and shove them back in the box.

"You're a bit too late, darling," he said flatly. "I already saw them. This life I have... it's _your_ fault, isn't it? And now you're just researching me further."

"No, that's n-not- I promise that- Pl-please, Mettaton, let me e-explain!"

Her face was twisted in an expression that looked truly pained. Mettaton wasn't convinced. He crossed his arms. "By all means. Entertain me with your next lie."

Shame filled her eyes until she couldn't meet his gaze anymore. "I didn't- This isn't what my r-research was supposed to be for..." Suddenly, she was looking back at him, eyes fiery and earnest. "I thought we could make robots that helped people! And worked with humans on jobs that were difficult! And that, u-um, if they had personalities... W-well, I thought they could be friends with humans that were... shy..."

She trailed off and looked away again. Finally she said, "I'm sorry this is what my research was used for instead. I'm s-sorry, Mettaton."

Mettaton stood and headed for the doorway. All this time, he'd thought he'd found someone who genuinely enjoyed his company, someone he could be himself with without being expected to do anything lewd- but it had all been a sham, Alphys's self-righteous attempts at redemption. It had never been about him at all.

"You didn't have to make us so sentient, you know. Looks like everything you researched backfired in the end." He gave her an acidic smile. "You get all the glory and we robots get all the pain. Bravo, Dr. Alphys. You're truly a human among humans."

-

There were a few traits Mettaton admired above all else. Ambition, perseverence, the ability to get winged eyeliner right on the first try.

He was starting to rethink those first two, though. Because Papyrus was full of them, and it was proving to be nothing but a nuisance.

He'd expected never to see him again after lashing out at him in the park. That had worked with Alphys. But instead, he started seeing him more than ever. Everywhere he went, Papyrus was there.

He would offer him "robot food," which ranged from car batteries to defunct floppy disks. No matter how many times Mettaton told him he only "ate" electricity, he still seemed certain he could find _something_ the robot could digest.

He gave him a scarf once. Handmade, he said, and it showed. "I noticed you haven't worn the shirt I gave you," he said, "but that's okay! I must have misjudged the size when I gave it to you. But a scarf is one-size-fits-all! Even if you're tiny like my brother!"

Mettaton sighed. It was hard to deter Papyrus. It was like trying to talk the rain out of falling. It was equally hard just to ignore him and get on with his work. After all, no one would even approach him with Papyrus standing there grinning like an idiot.

"Speaking of your brother," Mettaton said, letting himself sound as annoyed as he was, "you know he wouldn't approve of you hanging around me all the time, don't you?"

"Nonsense! Sans would love to be your friend too!" Papyrus protested.

"Honey, I really doubt that."

"Well, he would. And I'll prove it to you!" He laughed to himself and then ran off, like an evil villain coming up with his latest scheme. Mettaton was already sure he would not like it.

-

As it turned out, Mettaton didn't actually need Papyrus to reintroduce him to Sans. He ran into his brother on his own, one night when he was working the seedier and therefore much more profitable district of town.

It was around two in the morning when he saw Sans. He was pushing the door of a bar open. Mettaton was immediately pissed. Someone going bar-hopping in this area of town at this hour had no right to ever act like he had the moral high ground, yet Sans had been so eager to throw him out of his house back when they first met.

He was ready to tell Sans that, too. He went into the bar after him and saw him sitting at the counter, a drink already in hand. The sudden appearance of a sex robot got the other patrons' attention, though, and by the time Mettaton had swatted away all the bolder hands and money offers, telling them all he was booked, he figured Sans would've probably already seen him and left.

But when he was able to cast his attention back to the counter, he saw Sans was still sitting there, not looking at him at all. His head was drooping every few seconds, like an invisible weight was pressing him down. Then he'd catch himself and straighten back up, take another drink, and start to nod off again.

Mettaton claimed the stool next to him and ordered the same drink he had, just so the barkeeper wouldn't toss him out for loitering. He curled his fingers around the glass when it came and tilted his head, looking Sans over.

"You're not as cute as your brother," he judged.

Sans snapped back awake and blinked over at him. At that moment, Mettaton saw how truly tired he looked. It was the kind of fatigue that hid a story, one that might even be as messed up as his own.

"Oh. You." His voice was slurred a bit, and he seemed much less antagonistic with some alcohol in him. "Stop tryin' to fuck my brother, 'kay?"

"I gave that up ages ago. He's the one who won't leave me alone now," Mettaton sighed.

"He's a nice guy. Real nice. Too nice." Sans almost fell asleep again then caught himself. "Too good for either of us."

"Maybe he's too good for you, but you don't even know me. What gives you the right to count me out?" Mettaton asked, voice harsh.

Sans didn't answer for a long minute. Then he turned his head and asked, "Can robots drink?"

Mettaton didn't know if he was deflecting or if he was drunk enough to have forgotten the question already. He sighed. "I've never tried."

"You should try it." Sans nodded a couple of times. "It helps."

Mettaton eyed his glass warily, wondering if it really would or if it'd just short-circuit him.

Well, once probably wouldn't kill him.

As it turned out, not only could robots drink, they could also get drunk. He wondered if this was also Alphys's fault, or if someone else had thought to add that feature. But he didn't wonder about it for long, because his wiring felt all funny and even the metal of his body felt light. It was very distracting. The microphone he spotted at the end of the counter was also very distracting.

He took the karaoke stage with flourish and sang his computerized heart out. A few more drinks and he managed to drag Sans to the stage for a duet, and a few more and-

It was morning.

He blinked and sat up. His joints creaked a bit, like they'd rusted. How long had he been in sleep mode? His battery was low, so he hadn't been charging.

And where was he, anyway?

The room he was in was orderly, with a large bookshelf and boxes of action figures and other toys. He was in a bed. Not just any bed. This bed was shaped like a race car.

"What in the world..."

He stood up, feeling a bit off, like he had a few bugs in his programming. Maybe he'd had too much alcohol. He could feel it sitting in his core unpleasantly. He'd have to open his stomach up and pour it out later. First, he needed to know what was going on.

As soon as he opened the door, he recognized where he was.

"Oh, hello!" a cheery voice called up the stairs. "You're awake! Come join us for breakfast. Er, or at least sit with us while we eat."

"Paps, please, keep your voice down," a much less enthused voice said.

Mettaton headed downstairs and into the kitchen. Papyrus was at the stove, an apron tied around his waist, as he scrambled eggs in a large frying pan. Sans was sitting at the kitchen table, his chin against the wood and dark circles under his eyes. He looked up at Mettaton. "So robots can drink, but they don't get hungover. How's that fair?"

"Life isn't fair, sweetheart, but I think you already knew that." He took the seat across from Sans and then said to Papyrus, "Exactly how did I get here? Those memory files seem to be missing."

"I had to drag you and Sans back here." Papyrus turned around and waved his spatula around scoldingly. "The barkeeper knows our number because Sans is a regular and he calls me sometimes to come pick him up. But that's usually because he's fallen asleep! Not because he and his friend refuse to stop singing!"

"Not my friend," Sans grumbled. Mettaton ignored him.

"I guess I'll thank you for getting me back safe." Mettaton had to admit things could've gotten bad for him if someone else had decided to take him home. "But I must be going now. I've got to go charge my battery."

He immediately tried to leave, knowing by now that Papyrus would just argue if he stuck around. Unsurprisingly, he heard Papyrus hastily take the pan off the burner and follow him down the hall, stopping him right when he'd gotten outside on the doorstep.

"Why don't you stick around for breakfast? I'm sure we can find a charger that fits you," he urged. "Sans has lots of chargers."

"I'm sure. But I don't want to stick around, Papyrus," Mettaton frowned. "Why do you even want me to? What do you get out of pitying me so much?"

Papyrus blinked. "I don't pity you."

"Yes, you do. No need to lie. There are only two types of people in this world, darling. Those who pity me and those who use me."

Papyrus shook his head vehemently. "I don't think that's true! There are lots of types of people in this world. But there's only one Great Papyrus!"

"So tell me, Great Papyrus, why do you want me around so much if it's not to make me your charity case?" Mettaton asked impatiently.

"Because I want to be your friend," Papyrus said simply.

"And _why_ do you want to be my friend?" Mettaton asked, less than satisfied with that response.

"Well, for starters, you have very good fashion sense! Not as good as mine, of course, but I like very much how colorful you are! And you're a great singer! I waited a couple of songs to bring you and Sans home last night. You seemed like you were having a lot of fun. And you're a nice person, too! If you were having that much fun with Sans, you must be. My brother is a great judge of character."

Mettaton's lips parted as a protest started then failed to form. He thought he should correct Papyrus's assumptions, but then he let them go. After all, it was one thing in particular that had really struck him. "You... liked my singing?"

"Of course! You put your whole soul into it." Papyrus posed with the spatula he'd carried out in front of his mouth, like a microphone. "It was incredible! And it drowned out Sans, who is a very bad singer, which was probably good."

Mettaton looked down, and for just a second he smiled. No one had ever told him he was a good singer before. Perhaps Papyrus wasn't the best person to trust when it came to compliments, but he'd said it so sincerely.

"Well, Papyrus," Mettaton said, looking back up, "I don't know about this whole 'friend' thing, but why don't I let you become my number one fan?" 

(And very first, but he left that part unsaid.)

Papyrus's eyes shined. "I would be honored!"

"Did you know I can play piano too?" Mettaton bragged. "It sounds as beautiful as my singing. As beautiful as me, even!"

"Wow!" Papyrus looked completely amazed. "I'd love to hear it sometime! You should play with my friend Undyne! She plays the piano very enthusiastically. Sometimes she even breaks the keys!"

The way Papyrus said it made it sound like a good thing, and Mettaton had to admit he was curious about such an intense piano player. "Are you sure that's a good idea?" he had to ask. "You might be willing to have a robot around, but-"

"Oh, Undyne won't care," Papyrus interrupted, waving his cares away. "Her girlfriend used to make robots, in fact!"

Mettaton almost didn't want to ask, but he had to. "Oh?"

"Yeah, Alphys! She's nice too. You'll all get along great!" Papyrus beamed.

Mettaton thought of diagrams shoved under a chair, a voice trembling with shame, his own contempt when he left her behind for what he thought was for good.

But if she was Papyrus's friend, and Papyrus was his biggest fan, another meeting was inevitable.

Maybe this time, he could show her that he didn't exist to be pitied or to be used.

Maybe he could show the world that, too, one day.

"Come back in for breakfast?" Papyrus asked hopefully, breaking into his thoughts.

Mettaton smiled. "I can't eat, Papyrus dear."

"That's okay. Sans usually doesn't eat breakfast either, even when I cook it. But the more people at a kitchen table, the better!"

"If you say so."

He let Papyrus take his hand and pull him back inside. He kept holding onto it even when they were back in the kitchen. Sans looked at their hands and then up at Mettaton, unimpressed.

Mettaton winked at him and laced his fingers with Papyrus, who smiled at him questioningly but didn't unlace them.

Maybe there were more than two types of people in the world, then. There were those who pitied Mettaton and those who used him. And then there were those who found something to like in him.

For now, having one person in that group felt like enough.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic only exists because my friend (MissNewGoomy on here) 1) made me Undertale trash and 2) came up with a sex robot Mettaton scenario. Leave it to me to write a sex robot fic that only has slight references to sex. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> runicfairy.tumblr.com


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